


you took my shirt and my heart (and everything in between)

by hopeless_hope



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Whump, geralt being really tender and sweet with his favorite bard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-19 12:43:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22711015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_hope/pseuds/hopeless_hope
Summary: "You're wearing my shirt," Geralt says in a flat voice, expression unreadable.Jaskier looks down at the shirt, then back up at Geralt and shrugs. “Well, yeah. I got blood all over mine. I cleaned it but it’s still hanging to dry. I didn’t think you’d mind.”If it were anyone else, Geralt thinks, their head would be through the nearest wall. Instead, Geralt just looks at him, heat flaring in his eyes.“I don’t,” he says shortly, before softening. “Mind, I mean. It’s… nice.”-In which Jaskier steals Geralt's clothes, Geralt patches up an injured Jaskier, and they both share some feelings.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 29
Kudos: 959





	you took my shirt and my heart (and everything in between)

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! It's as good a day as any to post this disgusting fluff I wrote. Enjoy!
> 
> Don't really know what to do about the terrible title, but it's 4am so it's just gonna have to stick. We'll live.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” Geralt says in a flat voice, expression unreadable. He had just walked into their shared room at the inn, and Jaskier was sitting on the bed, clearly freshly-bathed after the day’s fiasco.

_Note to self: Do not bring the bard along on anymore assignments_ , Geralt thinks. As loathe as he is to admit it, he’s grown attached to the human, and he can’t help but want to listen whenever Jaskier’s gone off on one of his ramblings.

It’s not convenient when in the middle of a hunt, and the distraction nearly cost them their lives. Luckily enough, they managed to escape with nothing more than a deep cut on Jaskier’s shoulder where the creature had managed to slice him before Geralt could do the same to its head.

Jaskier looks down at the shirt, then back up at Geralt and shrugs. “Well, yeah. I got blood all over mine. I cleaned it but it’s still hanging to dry. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

If it were anyone else, Geralt thinks, their head would be through the nearest wall. Instead, Geralt just looks at him, heat flaring in his eyes.

“I don’t,” he says shortly, before softening. “Mind, I mean. It’s… nice.”

As soon as he says the words, Geralt snaps his jaw shut, looking away. Not before he sees Jaskier’s face brighten, though, and Geralt can’t help the pleased feeling that curls in his chest at the sight.

“How is the cut?” he asks, trying to ignore the guilt pressing at him. He should have been quicker.

Jaskier looks down at it and makes a show of shrugging flippantly, but Geralt can see the effort put into biting back a grimace. He slowly approaches, pausing as his hands hover hesitantly over the bard’s shoulder.

“May I?” he asks, and Jaskier swallows and nods.

“Yeah, uh, have a blast,” Jaskier responds awkwardly.

Geralt nimbly rolls up the sleeves of Jaskier’s—well, _his_ —shirt, revealing the deep gash, still oozing blood, and Geralt brings his fingers up to press gently around the wound.

“Did you clean it?” he asks gruffly, and Jaskier laughs nervously.

“I just took a bath. Washed around it. That should be sufficient, right?” he says, clearly knowing it’s not, and Geralt rolls his eyes. Damn bard is gonna be the death of him.

“You need healing salve,” Geralt tells him. “Wait here.”

He crosses the room and makes quick work of searching through his bag, tossing aside herbs and bottles that aren’t helpful right now, until he finds the one bottle he’s looking for. He stops by the washroom and wets a cloth before making his way back to wear Jaskier is watching him with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

And damn it if Jaskier doesn’t look good wearing his clothes. Geralt shakes the thought away.

As soon as Geralt lifts the damp cloth and presses it to the wound, Jaskier cringes away with a hiss. “It stings!” he whines, knowing he sounds like a child but not particularly caring.

Geralt gives him a stern look. “It’ll hurt more if it gets infected. Relax. It’ll be over soon.”

Jaskier nods, chastised, and takes a deep breath, trying to relax his muscles. Geralt’s hands are unexpectedly gentle as he wipes up the remaining blood and rubs the ointment into the wound. That is, until he hits a spot that especially stings, and Jaskier sucks in a quick breath, reflexively moving his free arm to grab at Geralt’s shirt.

Geralt pauses, looking down at Jaskier’s fist clenched in his shirt before looking back at the bard with an arched brow.

“I-I’m sorry,” Jaskier stutters out, looking flustered. He unclenches his fist, but Geralt puts a hand out to stop him before he can move away.

“This is fine,” Geralt says, and Jaskier gives him an uncertain look but keeps his hand there, trying not to focus on the warmth of Geralt’s skin just a layer of clothing away.

Geralt slowly finishes cleaning the wound, reaching aside for the dressing to wrap around him with confident fingers. His eyes flick to Jaskier’s at every pained noise the bard makes, and both of them are relieved when Geralt finishes. Jaskier lets out a breath, thankful the hard part's over.

“Thank you,” he says gratefully, and Geralt merely lets out a customary, “Hmmm,” in response, though his eyes are soft. He looks down at Jaskier’s hand, still caught in his shirt. 

Jaskier follows his gaze, quickly drawing his hand back. “I’m sorry,” he says again, for the second time that night, and Geralt just looks at him.

“That shirt,” he says, and Jaskier feels a flash of guilt. He really should have asked Geralt before putting it on, but he didn’t really have any other options.

“I should have asked,” Jaskier says in apology, but Geralt just stares at him for another moment, tilting his head as Jaskier fidgets nervously, unsure of what to make of the witcher’s response, or lack, thereof.

“I like it,” Geralt says decisively.

“What?” Jaskier asks, the word punched out of him with surprise.

“I like it,” Geralt repeats. “You look… nice.”

Jaskier blinks, surprised by the open compliment. “Oh. I… Why thank you, Geralt. That is a rather charming thing for you to say.”

“‘Charming’,” Geralt quotes dryly, a note of amusement in his voice. The word “charming” isn’t one that is typically used to describe him.

“Charming,” Jaskier confirms. “You know, you act like this big bad meanie, walking around with that scowl of yours, and everyone is oh so scared of the Great Butcher of Blaviken, but I know your secret, Geralt. Inside, you’re really just a huge old sof-”

He never gets a chance to finish his sentence. Geralt, almost without thinking, had slid a hand up to Jaskier’s cheek during his little tirade, and pulled him close. Even as their lips met, Geralt was telling himself, _This is just to shut him up._

Jaskier makes a surprised sound, tensing for a startled moment before relaxing, mouth opening slightly to let him in. Geralt kisses the same way he does everything - with confidence and precision, and Jaskier can’t help but melt into it completely.

Geralt carefully pushes Jaskier back into the pillows, hands skirting along the bard’s side and settling at his hips. Jaskier moves to wrap his arms around the witcher’s neck, stopping as the movement pulls at his injured shoulder. He pulls away with a grimace.

Geralt quickly moves off of him, resting at his side. “You’re still in pain,” he states, eyebrows crinkling with concern.

“It’s fine,” Jaskier insists, sneaking forward for another quick kiss before Geralt places a gentle hand on him to push him back.

“You need to rest,” Geralt tells him, and Jaskier pouts.

“Are you kidding? I finally get my hands on you - after years of waiting, mind you - and you want me to _rest?”_ Jaskier says indignantly.

Geralt blinks. “Years?”

Jaskier huffs. “Yes, you oblivious twat. _Years.”  
_

Geralt doesn’t know what to say to that. For a moment, he just watches Jaskier, eyes picking him apart, as if trying to figure out a particularly confusing puzzle. Eventually, he just wraps an arm around Jaskier’s waist and pulls him close.

“Oh, he wants to _cuddle_ now,” Jaskier teases, and Geralt rolls his eyes fondly as the bard settles, back pressed against Geralt’s chest. 

“Go to sleep, Jaskier,” Geralt grumbles, turning to snuff the candle out before pulling the covers over them both. 

“Fine,” Jaskier concedes reluctantly. “But you owe me an abundance of kisses. You know, for my suffering. Making me wait and all.”

“Shut up,” Geralt tells him with no real bite, nudging him slightly. Jaskier yawns, and Geralt knows the bard must be just as tired as he is after the eventful day they had. “Go to sleep,” he reiterates. “I’ll still be here tomorrow.”

“Aw, Geralt, you old sap,” Jaskier says teasingly, and Geralt lets out a low growl. “Okay, okay, shutting up now,” Jaskier laughs, adjusting the covers until he’s suitably comfortable.

Geralt lies contentedly as Jaskier completely relaxes against him, listening to the way his breaths slows as he’s lured fully into sleep. Something protective and fierce coils in his chest, and Geralt squeezes the bard closer, as if worried he’ll suddenly disappear.

It scares him for a moment. It scares him to know that Jaskier can take his shirt and take the breath from his lungs and take his time and his space, and that, more importantly, Geralt is _okay_ with it. He worries that he's making the wrong choice in going along with this. But Geralt as always been a little selfish, and the thought of pushing Jaskier away again _hurts._ He shakes the thought away.

Whatever Jaskier wants, Geralt is willing to give.

Geralt can’t help but press his lips to the side of Jaskier’s neck, hands grasping the material of Jaskier’s shirt - _his shirt._ He decides he likes the shirt much better on Jaskier.

Almost against his will, he feels his own eyelids start to droop, enjoying the warmth of the body in front of him. The last coherent thought Geralt has before sleep takes him is,

_I should let him wear my clothes more often._

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, you know you're ace when writing any kind of physical scene makes you wanna die. But for some reason, the fic wanted to be written so I wrote it. I'm not sure if I pulled it off. Big yikes but whatever. 
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! Anyway, I'm literally begging people to come talk to me on tumblr @thewitcherstan because starting in a new fandom is lonely and I'd love to get to know people!


End file.
